


The Exquisite Pain

by Chatote



Series: Two women and their frankly ridiculous adventures [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Danger Night, Drugs, F/F, FemJohn, Femlock, First Kiss, Guilt, Overdose, Pre-Slash to Slash, Self-Loathing, suicide attemps?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-09-22 21:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9625781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chatote/pseuds/Chatote
Summary: What is worst: love or the fear of losing the one you love?After a case gone wrong, Sherlock is terrified Jane might leave her. Why would she stay?TW: drugs, murder description, mention of torture, self-loathing





	1. Chapter 1

The world was muddling around Sherlock, as if it was engulfed in some sort of heavy white fog that blurred the lines between reality and dream.

It wasn’t often that she failed. On those rare occasions, she always made a point of reviewing every aspects of the case, no matter how painful it was, so that she would never do the same mistake again. But this one… This one had been terrible. It had been the hardest case since Jane had started to work with her. 

A psychopath had been killing children, one after the other, every twelve hours, by slicing their throats and leaving the bodies in toys shops. Parents would receive their child’s tongue in a small box wrapped in gift paper twenty-four hours later. 

By the time they had caught the murderer, six children were dead and a seventh was at the hospital in critical condition. 

Sherlock hadn’t eaten nor slept in five days. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically. The fresh glass of the cab on which she was resting her head was the only thing keeping her awake. 

_‘You said you’d do your best’,_ one of the mother had shouted before passing out. _‘You said your were the best. It’s your fault if she’s gone! You killed my daughter.’_

She was right. It was her fault. If she had listened to Jane, if she had eaten and slept, maybe she would have made it. Maybe this little boy wouldn’t be dying. Maybe the others wouldn’t be dead. If she hadn’t been so _stupid_ and full of herself.

But the worst wasn’t that deep sense of self-hate that had been making her shiver for the last hour. It was knowing that Jane… That Jane would leave her now. Sherlock’s throat tightened every time her eyes met the doctor who was currently sitting at her side. It was just a matter of time. 

Jane had seen the truth. She had seen that Sherlock wasn’t a hero, that she couldn’t save everyone. And she would leave. 

Sherlock closed her eyes. Her teeth cut her bottom lip and the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Pain silenced her dark thoughts momentarily.

She didn’t realise they had arrived in 221B until she heard Jane collapse in her armchair. She looked exhausted. 

The consulting detective didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Playing the violin was out of question, as well as making an experiment. Even working on another case was unthinkable. 

‘Tea?’ Sherlock jumped at Jane’s proposition. She could feel the doctor’s eyes fixed on her but she didn’t — couldn’t — look back. She couldn’t see the hate and disappointment in Jane’s eyes. 

Without a word, she walked past her friend and headed to her room. Jane didn’t try to stop her. 

* * *

Jane was exhausted. It had been a really hard week. Seeing all those children… It had brought bad memories from the war. Let’s just say that torture wasn’t rare where she had been, and not limited to soldiers.

She could hear her bed calling her from the upper floor but she couldn’t submit to it. With a sight, she stood up from her armchair. Ever the soldier. 

Sherlock had been different since this woman had shouted on her. Even before, if Jane was honest with herself. It was as if she was blaming herself for the murders. Which was stupid, Jane knew. Sherlock had done her very best. If not for her, more children would be dead. Jane also knew it wasn’t exactly how things were going in Sherlock’s mind. 

She stopped, making sure Sherlock was in her room. She listened carefully but no sounds were coming from there. She didn’t dare enter. Sherlock wouldn’t like it. 

Relieved — if Sherlock had taken anything, there would at least be _some_ noises— she reached for her jacket. She closed the door quietly behind her as she exited the flat. 

It was cold outside. Her fingers were freezing when she hold the phone to her ear. She hated doing this but they’d want to know. It took only two beeps for the other person to answer. 

‘Yes?’ Mycroft worried voice said. He knew Jane wouldn’t call him for nothing, especially at this hour. 

‘It’s a danger night.’

* * *

_Selfish. Monster. Freak._

Sherlock took her head in her hands. She was sat on the floor of her bedroom, rocking, trying to silence the voices. 

Night had fallen outside, though she didn’t have any idea of what time it was. She had lost count a long while ago. The only thing she knew was that Jane was in bed. Sherlock had heard the soft thump of her feet on the stairs. 

_You killed them. Failure. Murderer._

‘Is this a dagger which I see before me,’ she started to recite desperately. ‘The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee! I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to sight? or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable as this which now I draw.*’ But the monologue didn’t quiet the voices. 

It didn’t appease the revolted feeling that made her stomach ache, nor the pounding in her head, the shaking of arms, the want to _forget_ and just _let go_ of everything or even the monstrous pictures when she closed her eyes. It certainly wouldn’t stop Jane from leaving. 

Sherlock took a shuddering breath. She couldn’t stay like this. Her eyes fell on the corner of the room where she had hidden her supplies. She had sworn she would stop. She had sworn it to Jane and Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and Molly. 

But today… Today was different, wasn’t it? She wanted it. She _needed_ it. Repressing a groan, she stood up. She was disgusted with herself. 

_Weak_. 

She shook her head. Her hand closed around the small wooden box. She stroke the topbefore opening it. A single syringe was resting inside. It was her emergency kit, the one she would never told anyone about, for the nights when it was just too hard. She had almost forgotten it. 

Her finger took the small instrument that would put an end to seven months of abstinence. The liquid shined in the moon light. It was beautiful. 

Sherlock’s mind froze at this sight, as if it knew what was coming. The liberation. She took a second to enjoy the more than welcomed peace.

Once the sleeve of her dressing gown was rolled up, she clenched her teeth and inserted the needle inside her pale skin. 

* * *

Jane jumped awake. She was slouched in her armchair with a blanket to keep her warm. It was one of the few she kept in her bedroom, a present form Harry. No matter how much she wanted it, she wouldn’t sleep in her bed tonight. Not when Sherlock was… like this.

She had planed to stay awake but the last few days had caught up with her and she had passed out around 10pm. 

Shaking her head slightly to clean her mind, she glanced at her phone. There wasn’t any text from Mycroft but she could tell he wouldn’t be sleeping neither. 

With a sight, she pushed the cover away and went to the kitchen. The flat was in complete silence. She put some water in the kettle and turned it on. A few minutes later, her cup of tea was ready. 

While it was cooling, she approached Sherlock’s door with slow, careful steps. No sounds. She went back to the kitchen. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she had thought. How wrong she was. 

The cup was a few millimetres away from her lips when a loud moan came from Sherlock’s bedroom. Jane was already gone when the cup shattered on the floor. 

She burst into the room and assessed the situation quickly. Sherlock was curled up on the floor, her arms wrapped around her thin body. There was pearls of sweat on her forehead and her breathing was ragged. Jane kneeled at her side. Pupils dilated. 

‘Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?’ Jane asked. Sherlock’s pulse was quick. Far too quick. And she didn’t seem to be aware of her surrounding. _Overdose_ , Jane’s mind supplied. 

An empty needle rolled on the floor when Sherlock jerked again. Jane had no doubt as to what it had contained. 

‘Oh Sherlock…’, she murmured. Luckily, she had taken her phone with her. She nearly dropped it but managed to hold it to her ear. Mycroft answered instantly. 

‘Mycroft, ambulance. Now!’ Jane barked. The line went dead but Jane knew he was already in action. He would be faster than 999. 

She took Sherlock in her arms, trying to appease her as much as she could until help arrived.The younger woman was cold and shivering in Jane’s arms. She curled up tighter as a sob escaped her. Her blue dressing gown was a mess as well as the rest of clothes, covered with tears and mucus.

It was so strange to see the usually distant detective like this. Sherlock ‘didn’t do’ emotions. Sure, Jane had learned to read between the lines. She could tell when Sherlock was happy, sad or angry. But she had never seen her so lost like she was now. It was wrong.

Jane stroke her black hair and whispered calming words in the dark. Sherlock’s pulse was still racing and she was now taking deep and slow inspirations. 

‘Shh, Sherlock. It’s alright,’ Jane whispered. ‘You’re going to be alright. I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry… It’s gonna be fine, Sherlock. They’re on their way.’ 

What had happened? Even if Sherlock had used, this was a strong reaction, especially for an addict like her. Unless… Jane looked at the needle again. Unless, Sherlock had miscalculated the dose. But Sherlock never miscalculated. 

It wasn’t the moment to think about it. Right now, the only thing that Jane could do was wait for the paramedics and hope Sherlock could hold on until then. 

As the ambulance turned into Baker Street, Sherlock started to convulse. 


	2. Chapter 2

‘You failed.’ Mycroft’s stare was on Jane, cold and unwavering. They were standing in the hospital’s waiting room, alone, surrounded only by chairs and piles of outdated newspapers. Outside, the sun had started to rise and the clouds had turned red over London. There still wasn’t any news about Sherlock’s condition. 

Jane fought back the shiver that threatened to take her over. Mycroft could probably see the guilt written on her face but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of truly seeing how much she was affected — though he could probably read that in her hand or whatever. 

‘You failed her,’ Mycroft repeated. 

She closed her eyes. She _knew_. She knew. It was her fault if Sherlock was laying unconscious on an hospital bed. She should have known. She should have seen the signs when they had gotten back to 221B. And she had. That was the worst. She had seen the signs of a ‘danger night’ as they cold it. What had she done? Nothing.

Why? Maybe because she was shocked too. Or maybe because she feared how Sherlock would have reacted, had she tried to stop her from using the drugs. It didn’t excuse anything, of course. It was unforgivable. And now, Sherlock was between life and death. 

* * *

 

Mycroft left, eventually. Sherlock’s doctor had come to tell them that there was nothing to do but wait which wasn’t something he was good at. Thus, after visiting his sleeping sister whose peaceful slumber was broken with moans and groans, her skin as pale as snow and her lean body linked to beeping machines, he had been taken away by a black limo, leaving Jane alone. 

Being a doctor, she was used to hospital rooms, but in this very moment, when the door had closed on Mycroft, she had wished he wouldn’t have left her. 

The chair was hard and uncomfortable. There was little to do and each time her eyes fell on Sherlock, Jane felt a pang of guilt tearing her apart. _You failed her_. She had. 

* * *

 

Sherlock was flying in an endless fog. She couldn’t remember how nor why she had come here but she didn’t want to leave. Despite its strangeness, the place was warm and welcoming. There wouldn’t be anymore failures and disappointments here. She wouldn’t be a burden to Jane and Mycroft. They’d be free. They’d be happy. 

Nevertheless, Sherlock’s legs never stopped walking and, before she could realise it, the fog was gone. 

* * *

 

When Jane woke up, her neck was stiff and it felt as if a trunk had run on her back. She stirred her muscles and blink to chase the after-sleep dizziness that made her head spin. 

Sherlock was still in her bed, her black hair like a crown on the pillow and her open eyes staring at the ceiling above her. Jane gulped. 

She should talk, she knew it. She should apologise and make sure Sherlock was alright, but seeing her friends like this… Seeing Sherlock, who was always so close and whose emotions were always so restrained… Seeing her coming undone like she had… Even now, those big blue eyes of her were full of torment that Jane could only hope to guess. 

Now wasn’t the time. 

So she kept her tongue for herself and, after sending a text to both Mycroft and Lestrade, she brought her chair closer and took Sherlock’s hand in hers. She would be here for her. Always. And if it only meant being here and making sure Sherlock knew she was here, she would do it. 

* * *

 

Sherlock’s hand felt at the right place around Jane’s, her long fingers encircling the smaller ones, her light skin against Jane’s darker complexion. Sherlock allowed herself a few more minutes of this, before doing what had to be done. 

The sooner they’d break apart, the less painful it would be for them both. Jane had probably stayed just to make sure Sherlock was alright. Once that was assessed, she would disappear. Probably go back to working in a hospital, get married, get a house and have a kid and a normal life where Sherlock wouldn’t be allowed. The sooner it was said, the less Sherlock would suffer. 

But it was difficult. Jane had snuck in every corner of Sherlock’s life and letting her go while keeping the same life as before, while keeping up the appearances, would be a challenge. She could already feel the rock blocking her throat and the monster pressuring her heart inside her chest, trying to shatter it in a thousand pieces. 

Sherlock closed her eyes. The sooner, the better. She took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she was determined. Jane was looking at her worryingly but Sherlock couldn’t meet her gaze, not yet. She sat up with difficulty and looked straight ahead. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Sherlock breathed out in a low voice that was so different from her normal one that Jane considered calling a nurse. ‘I’m sorry you had to assist to this. You can leave now. I’m alright. Please, give your keys to Miss Hudson. I’ll give you enough time to take your stuff out before coming back to the flat. You won’t have to see me again.’

Her words were met with a deep silence which was unexpected. She had thought Jane would react with a sight of relief, an apology maybe, and left without more words. She wasn’t prepared for this. 

* * *

Jane couldn’t believe what she had just hear. Sherlock thought she was about to… what? Leave? Abandon her? Nonsense. Where were those ideas coming from? Guilt let place to anger as she starred at the wonderful woman who was stubbornly not looking at her. Anger at herself for letting Sherlock think this, anger at Sherlock for thinking this, anger at all those who had let Sherlock think like this in her past, who had let her think she wasn’t worth love and respect. 

‘Sherlock,’ Jane said softly. Sherlock didn’t move, didn’t make any sign showing she had heard. 

‘Sherlock’, Jane repeated more harshly. When her seeing call wasn’t answered, she took the pointed chin between two careful fingers and turned Sherlock’s head to her’s. ‘I am never leaving you, you idiot genius,’ she said steadily in a strong yet warm tone. ‘Not now, not ever. Even if I wanted to — which I don’t — I’m not even sure I could. You brought me back to life, Sherlock. And you keep doing it everyday. I will never leave you, understood?’

The words had been hard to let out, but once she had started to speak, Jane had a hard time stopping. She couldn’t say all she wanted now, though. Not with Sherlock still these vulnerable. 

She couldn’t yet say how seeing Sherlock come to the kitchen every morning, with her black hair dishevelled and her sleepy eyes half closed filled her with joy. How every time they were apart, Jane felt her feelings for Sherlock strengthen. How most of the time, all she wanted to do was make Sherlock happy, and how herself was happy when she was with Sherlock, when she could hear her splendid mind unravel puzzles, when they would both laugh at an inside joke or share a meal at Angelo’s. How she would give everything to Sherlock in a heartbeat and how meeting Sherlock had freed her. How, since their first meeting, Sherlock had gradually became Jane’s flatmate, colleague, friend and, at last, love. 

But for now, seeing her few words bring back confidence and calm to Sherlock was enough. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ship will soon sail.

**Author's Note:**

> *Monologue from Macbeth  
> I don't know if it'll be 2 or 3 chapters but more to come, I'm not gonna leave them like this.


End file.
